


the silver lining

by ninthdreamie



Series: the squirrel and his dearest acorn [16]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Blood and Violence, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Minor Character Death, Morally Ambiguous Character, Mystery, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:34:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22844896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninthdreamie/pseuds/ninthdreamie
Summary: To be frank, Jaemin has an idea on why Jeno is not showing up to class.
Relationships: Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin
Series: the squirrel and his dearest acorn [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1050548
Comments: 4
Kudos: 46





	the silver lining

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact: i may write a lot of cute stuff, but my top genres in books and films is Mystery, Horror, and Suspense. it's bc i always borrowed my grandpa's books that had those genres, which is why i grew to love stephen king's and james patterson's works as i grew up.
> 
> so i always wanted to write something dark. and this happened to be it. was not proofread pls understand hhh but i hope u enjoy!

“Mr. Na, have you heard anything from Mr. Lee?”

Jaemin looks up from his desk slowly. All of his classmates turn to him, concerned but even more curious. In the midst of it all, he unconsciously raises an eyebrow at their math teacher, who has been asking that question lately before they start the lectures.

Indeed, it has been strange. The class president has been absent for two weeks straight, not even leaving an excuse letter with a medical certificate attached to it, or giving an explanation to any of his classmates beforehand.

Not like he’ll tell just  _ anyone  _ about it. When it comes to his whereabouts, only Jaemin knows the answer.

During the first week, everyone brushed it off, thinking that he probably got sick. Probably he took a week off from the stress, a reward for himself since he has been doing well academically, being one of their school’s best students. Those were the only plausible reasons for Jeno’s absence.

Now that it is Friday and Jeno still didn’t show up with his ever gentle smile and even gentler actions, it is beginning to bug the class. It bugs Jaemin even more, speaking as the class’ vice president and also the only person who really knows him inside out.

A frown graces his usually composed and calm face as he answers, “I haven’t heard from him yet.” This answer raises questions and noises of confusion amongst his classmates, but it gets quiet again when their teacher grabs their attention.

Even as the day ends, Jaemin does not entertain his classmates’ questions about Jeno. He appreciates the concern, he really does. But some things are supposed to be left untold.

Yeah, Jaemin was kind of lying when he said he has not heard anything from him.

*

To be frank, Jaemin has an idea on why Jeno is not showing up to class.

He is now in his squeaky clean family van. Said vehicle is now in front of the humongous and elegant gate of the Lee mansion, waiting for it to open. Jaemin thought that he could pay his best friend a visit before he goes home to his mom and grandma’s cooking.

Usually, his van would be let in so easily. Their family driver, who Jaemin considers family, knows this as well. They have been here so many times, for joint family dinners and other extravagant occasions that he and Jeno usually ditched for something else.

So why? Why are the guards suddenly approaching them like they’re new visitors, potential trespassers?

Their family driver rolls the window down on his side, getting to the point and not looking at the guard in the eye. “Young Master Na is here to visit Young Master Lee.”

Jaemin gets offended—his facial expression is exaggerated yet again, as if he was about to say  _ how dare you— _ when the guard asks, “For what exactly?”

He immediately keeps his cool, returning to his famous calm and almost monotonous face. Internally though, he wants to shout at the guard’s face, but that would be ungraceful. That is  _ not _ how a member of the Na family loses their cool, he reminds himself.

“Young Master Lee has been absent for two weeks in school. Young Master Na wants to see how he’s doing,” Their driver answers calmly, through gritted teeth.

Exactly five minutes pass. Jaemin pats his driver’s shoulder to calm him down throughout the time period, because he was weirded out and pissed at the guard’s sudden interrogation. If he were him, he’d be pissed too.

The gate opens for them, and the van gets in. Jaemin takes a look around the place through the vehicle’s tinted windows, seeing if there are any changes.

Well, the grass field is cut regularly, no traces of weed. The fountain in the midst of said field is still working. The helpers of the place still pause their tasks and bow when they pass by. Nothing weird.

However, Jaemin feels something off. It’s like something is supposed to smell off in the Lee mansion, but maybe that’s just him, since he has been watching crime documentaries on Netflix and just watched Parasite recently.

Speaking of Parasite, Jaemin mentally notes to make Jeno watch it soon.

The family van stops in front of the huge door, where the Lee family butler waits. He isn’t sporting a smile on his face, like he usually does. Jaemin is wondering if he has visited at the wrong time.

“Thanks for bringing me here, hyung.” Jaemin thanks their family driver, smiling. “Just go get my bag if you’re hungry, I bought some nice food in the canteen today.”

“Thanks, Jaem,” He smiles back at him, as he always does.

Jaemin gets out of the van as the car door is opened for him, only beginning to notice that there is a maid scrubbing the floor. Hard. With all their might. He also smells something metallic, along with whatever cleaning substance is used for it.

And why would they even scrub the floor? He knows Mr. and Mrs. Lee hate their floor getting stained with anything.

_ Weird. _

Nonetheless, Jaemin takes a step forward, and he is under the huge chandelier of the mansion again. Back when they were younger, he would always stay away from it in case it falls on him.

Back then too, Jeno would always tell him to not be scared because he’ll never let that happen.

He feels his cheeks heating up at the memory, his heartbeat accelerating, but he gulps it down to focus on what he really is here for. Jaemin quietly goes up the stairs, ignoring the butler asking him regarding what he wants for snacks. His feet take him to the third floor of the mansion where his best friend’s bedroom is supposed to be.

The walls, the ceiling, and everything in between are clean and shiny. Like it has been cleaned every day. There is nothing strange about that at all, honestly.

What is strange is that the maids’ eyes are all following him, watching his every move regardless if it’s big or small. They would usually ignore him and do their chores in silence, but why are they staring at him like he’s going to leave this place knowing something he shouldn’t.

Off-putting, really. It feels like there is something wrong in the Lee household.

Jaemin reaches the door of Jeno’s bedroom, knocking their secret code: one knock with the knuckles, one knock with the side of his hand, and then his entire palm pressed on it, like he’s going to push it open.

He hears a click, and the door opens a little, enough for him to catch a glimpse of his best friend’s flat screen TV. Jeno would usually open the door wide for him, with his eyes turning into moon crescents and grinning.

Instead he sees Jeno, his eyes puffy and red behind his glasses, his lips pale pink, calling his name weakly. He looks far from sick. Jaemin loses all of his composure and quickly gets in, closing the door behind him.

All of the concern from the past two weeks shows in Jaemin’s face as he lets Jeno embrace him tighter than usual. “Jaemin,” The latter calls him softly, sounding relieved. “Jaemin, you’re here.”

That relief turns to tears. He feels it on the side of his neck, but Jaemin hugs him back, closing his eyes and feeling the warmth that his best friend’s hugs usually give. It feels like he’s wrapped in a blanket, so cozy. So comforting.

“I wanted to see you.” Jeno whispers in his ear, like it’s something only he should know. Jaemin feels his cheeks heating up again, but even worse since his shoulder is squishing them. Somewhere at the back of his head though, he thinks that the former could actually do that—he’s always welcome in the Na household, but he was probably banned from doing so.

“Vice pres duties kept piling up,” Jaemin tells him in an apologetic tone, his way of saying sorry. He feels like the bones in his torso are about to crush from how tight Jeno is hugging him, but he lets it be. He misses the latter’s too-tight-for-comfort hugs. “I was unexpectedly free today, so I took the opportunity to check on you.”

When Jaemin pulls away a little, just enough that they can see each other’s faces, he sees the way Jeno is looking at him. It’s that indescribable look he often wears when something goes wrong, when there is something awry and he does not want to tell him about it. His palpitating heart just now feels like it’s about to drop to his stomach.

Silence ensues. Jaemin notices how the world outside of his best friend’s room is not bustling like usual. The Lee mansion is always noisy over something, regardless if it’s a huge matter or not. He frowns, his eyebrows scrunching together.

Jeno sighs, but it’s full of anxiety and Jaemin frowns harder.

“Jen...why haven’t you been going to school lately?”

*

Jaemin takes off his eye mask for the nth time, and sits up, even more annoyed.  _ For fuck’s sake, I can’t sleep,  _ he curses in his head before sighing. His palms come in contact with his face, so he groans into them; this is what he does when he gets unreasonably restless.

Except now, there is a very valid, very morbid reason why he should feel that way.

Jesus Christ, he wants to get out of his home now and take Jeno out of there, let him stay here for a few days, or weeks, or months. For as long as he needs— _ forever,  _ hopefully. He wants to shut out the noises of sponges and wet rags against the mansion’s floors, the sobs coming from his best friend’s mouth, and the unsettling silence within the halls earlier. He wishes that that wasn’t true.

God, Jaemin has been looking up to Mr. Lee a lot, always talking about him with respect and pure admiration. He wants to scrub his tongue clean now, wants to take back his words.

Wants to chop his hands off.

Jaemin looks at the digital clock by his queen sized bed’s nightstand. 2:47 a.m., it says. He rubs his eyes and falls onto his bed again, his glare directed at the ceiling. He is fiddling with his fingers, biting his lips, thinking hard.

Thinking of ways to save Jeno from his father.

*

The next time Jaemin meets Jeno again, it was a Sunday. As usual, the Na family enters the church ten minutes before the mass starts, his mom and dad greeting their longtime friends, and his grandma proceeding to where the choir is since she claims she likes to sing for the Lord.

Shame. Jaemin did not inherit a bit of his family’s devotion towards God.

While his family is busy socializing—Jaemin wonders how they never complain about it, seriously—he sits next to Jeno, who is quieter than usual. He is wearing his glasses, but he looks like he is about to cry. Not to mention, there’s a bandage around his knuckles.

Jaemin wants to get mad, now that he knows who does this, but that would be too scandalous and disrespectful in front of Jesus at the altar. So he gets up from the bench and nudges Jeno to follow him outside, in which he does so quickly.

Two minutes before the mass starts. Jaemin checks on Jeno’s patched up injury, while asking softly, “What did he do to you?”

Jeno has taken his glasses off by now, quickly wiping the tears streaming down his cheeks endlessly. “He tried to hurt me, so I fought back. He almost disabled my hand.” The pain is evident in his voice, and Jaemin swears to the heavens above that he is going to do something about this.

Chopping his hands off isn’t enough. Decapitation seems like a great idea.

In order to calm him down, Jaemin leaves a kiss on Jeno’s cheek. It’s what he always did since they were kids, and it used to stun everyone, but it’s a normal gesture now. When the latter’s shoulders continued to tremble, he also planted a kiss on his nose and his forehead, making sure that they aren’t getting back in the church unless his best friend is okay.

By the time Jeno has calmed down, Jaemin kisses his temple. The former sniffles for the last time, muttering, “We should get back before they notice we’re gone.”

You see, Jaemin knows well that none of them would mind. They were known to be the kids who often miss a good portion of the mass, and that was okay. Well, except for Jeno’s dad.

He wishes people notice that Mrs. Lee is strangely not present. He wishes people bug Mr. Lee about it, asking about her whereabouts. He wishes Jeno gets to tell them why her mother’s not there. He  _ has  _ to, after all.

While holding Jeno’s uninjured hand, they enter the church silently, and no one spares a glance at them.

No one but Mr. Lee.

*

Jeno finally attends class the next day, looking much happier than before, thankfully. Jaemin still looks after him though, does most of his best friend’s duties so he doesn’t stress himself out more.

Their classmates ask him questions regarding his hand, how did he get it injured and all. “Was an accident,” was all Jeno answered. They didn’t buy it, since he is a terrible liar and he is anything but clumsy.

So Jaemin saves him from spilling the truth, telling their classmates that he was diagnosed with a terrible flu, and one of the symptoms was unbearable dizziness. They all bought it, and Jeno just smiled at him, his way of saying thank you.

By the time they were dismissed, Jaemin watches from one of their classroom’s windows, if the Lee family car is there. The sun is already setting, and most of the students have gone home, so it’s just him and Jeno and the teachers in their respective faculty rooms.

“Jeno.”

“Yeah?”

“Stay at my place tonight,” Jaemin doesn’t say it in a way that is inviting. Rather, he says it firmly, with finality. “I’ll just tell my mom and dad we’ll be having a week-long sleepover.”

He does not have to turn around to know that Jeno is panicking, already fearing for his life. He does not  _ want  _ to look at his face right now, knowing that he is going to cry. Jaemin shouldn’t be the one crying in this situation. “Nana, you know how my dad is going to react.”

“I know, and I’m not letting him hurt you.” Jaemin makes it clear, his voice eerily calm and composed, his hand gripping the strap of his backpack too hard. “I’ll make sure he gets hurt first.”

*

Jeno gets welcomed to the Na household with a loving hug by his mom and dad, a whole bowl of homemade spicy cheese ramen by his grandmother, and a new set of clothes to wear throughout the whole week.

Jaemin knows that everyone in his home barely has an idea of what is actually going on, but they go with it anyway, since they did say Jeno looks like he’s going through a rough time. “Take all the time you need here son,” Mrs. Na tells him, gently patting his head as he eats the still hot ramen.

They also take this opportunity to help each other with assignments, discuss matters regarding the classroom and future school events, and talk about anything they can. Anything to distract Jeno from the danger he is in. Anything to keep him from getting anxious about his abuser of a father.

By the time the digital clock indicates that it is ten in the evening, Jeno dozes off, holding Jaemin in his arms. The latter is still awake, smiling wide now that his best friend is sleeping peacefully, no sign of a potential nightmare happening in his face so far.

Jaemin feels his heart ache when he realizes that this is the first good night’s sleep he will be having in awhile. He remembers how Jeno looked like when he broke down last Friday, when he told him about how he couldn’t sleep well in his own home now knowing that his father could hurt him more when he’s unconscious. He has not slept well in four months.

_ Don’t cry, goddamn it,  _ Jaemin chants in his head as he caresses Jeno’s cheek with his thumb, exhaling heavily. He can’t bring himself to think about the pain he is going through. It feels like he’s the one who got multiple stabs in his body rather than his mother.

It’s not long before Jeno wakes up, still half-asleep, and Jaemin lets a few tears fall from his eyes. The latter quickly wipes them off, already having an excuse in his head. But he feels him resting his face in the crook of his neck, breathing steadily. He has fallen asleep so quick.

Jaemin sheds tears again as he gently brushes through his best friend’s raven black locks with his fingers, silently promising that he will take matters into his own hands.

That he will keep his best friend safe, no matter what.

*

He knew that sooner or later, Mr. Lee was going to go banging on his home’s door demanding for his son. Funny how he did it on a Friday night.

Jaemin’s grandmother looked puzzled; she is probably asking herself in her head on why Mr. Lee looks like he is about to lose his mind. His suit is wrinkly and he is no longer wearing a necktie, his usually slicked back hair is all over the place now, his eyes look horrifying, and his gaze is predatory.

All while he is disrupting the peace in the Na mansion, Jaemin assures Jeno that he will be back for him and gets out of his own bedroom. He locks the door with the household’s master key, quickly pushing it in the pocket of his track pants as he goes to the living room where the chaos is unfolding.

The moment Jaemin shows up, appearing composed and aloof as ever, Mr. Lee asks him, “Where’s Jeno?”

“In my bedroom, why?” He shoots back a question, annoyance clearly evident in his tone and in the way he raises an eyebrow as well. This ticks off Mr. Lee, who has gotten up from their expensive sofa couch.

He can tell he wants to land a punch on his son’s face, make him a punching bag. It was his deceased mom’s extra role, aside from being his loving and forgiving wife. The thought of Mrs. Lee already being abused way before her death makes Jaemin seethe in anger. No wonder why she always wore long-sleeved dresses, concealer on her legs and face, and closed shoes. No wonder why she always stayed away from her husband since they were children, always chatting with his own mom.

No wonder why he always caught Mr. Lee kicking anything he could. The man had anger management issues.

“The sleepover is done. I’ll bring my son home.” The anger is overflowing now. Jaemin wishes he could break his composure and laugh at him.

“You’re no longer his father from this day on.” Jaemin talks formally but with spite, as if he is spitting on him. He does not smirk. He does not raise his eyebrow. He keeps a straight face. “You can leave now.”

The sound of prestigious ceramic gets crushed within someone’s grip. Blood begins to drip on his mom’s favorite carpet, and Jaemin knows that he can’t keep a straight face for long. He’s afraid of ending up harmed, but he has known for awhile now that he’s more afraid of Jeno becoming his family member’s subject of abuse.

After all, he is still young, and this problem is no longer something he is watching on Netflix.

Fear for his life is shown in his eyes when Mr. Lee grabs a shard of the mug he just broke, raising it at him, probably aiming for some crucial area in his body. Jaemin barely dodges it and ends up running to another corner of the area, too scared to move immediately.

He hears his grandmother scream for help. Jaemin winces when he presses himself against the wall, freezing when Mr. Lee gets close yet again.

_ What matters _ , Jaemin tells himself as he grabs a shard from the mug,  _ is that he doesn’t get to Jeno.  _ So he makes sure to make a fuss, cursing at him, running around just to stall him. He does all that even if his fear keeps increasing by the second.

There is no trace of Mr. Lee anymore as he swings his hand around. This is a different person he is witnessing. That is no longer his best friend’s dad. The man in front of him is about to commit homicide. Deep down, Jaemin wonders if he has always been like this behind closed doors. Deep down, Jaemin wonders if Jeno has known this side of his parent from the very beginning, or if this is something he didn’t see coming at all.

All of these thoughts just to distract himself. All of these thoughts—

“ _ Ah! _ ” Jaemin cries when he feels his skin pierced, when he feels the shard go downwards, as if cutting him open. He barely cries, but the pain that is beginning to flood his senses is indeed unbearable. Blood stains the carpet even more, and it flows heavily from his arm to below his wrist. His lips quiver as he watches the fresh wound, because  _ for fuck’s sake _ , it  _ fucking _ hurts.

Even if she is not there, Jaemin calls for her. “Mom…”

Mr. Lee is suddenly hovering over him, all big and scary like how his mom describes the monsters under people’s beds, and Jaemin wishes he can act tough like those main characters in action movies his grandmother always watches. But he sobs so hard like he’s four years old all over again, like he just scraped his knee while running.

For a moment, he was ready to get hurt again, but something shining catches his eye. It’s right behind Mr. Lee. Silver. A silver line. He can’t see through his tears but seeing it gives him a little bit of hope that he can be saved, that he isn’t going to die this way.

Jaemin feels some liquid substance splatter across his face. He hears Mr. Lee yell at someone. He sees that silver line drop right in front of him, right where his injured arm rests. Another scream follows, someone screaming for his life, and he looks up from the object to Jeno setting himself free from his father’s grip.

Suddenly, all of the fear he has been feeling fades. Jeno is going to get murdered. “Jeno!” He screeches, grabbing the silver line, which turns out to be a kitchen knife. He has no idea where his best friend got it from, since he definitely did not get it from the kitchen.

He comes forward, holding the knife with his other arm. Mr. Lee is restraining him from moving, his hands gripping his son’s arm and his knee pressing his thigh painfully, making Jeno scream for help.

After that, Jaemin couldn’t remember anything else. Everything got too hazy, he got too high on adrenaline to even recollect himself. He probably got too distracted because of his anger as well, that desire in him to kill his abusive father. That desire to keep Jeno safe.

Speaking of his father, Jaemin would be lying if he said he never dreamt of killing him in the most gruesome and merciless way possible. He got too deep in the crime documentaries he watched, amazed and at first horrified at how the serial killers did their thing. But now, killing him in the way those criminals did seems like a pretty nice idea.

Or maybe he can make a trademark of his own. Maybe. A warning that no one should get near the people he loves. A well-deserved punishment for killing his best friend’s mother in the first place. A horrible mistake for even thinking of harming his son in the first place.

By the time he had gotten to his senses, Jeno has blood over the clothes he is wearing, a splash of metallic red on his glasses and some parts of his face. He is crying; he doesn’t know for what reason.

Until Jaemin looks at the kitchen knife he is holding, the silver edges now stained with red. His hands are tainted with red as well, even in his own clothes, his mom’s precious carpet, and he could even taste it on his chapped lips. He looks away from the weapon, now staring at the deceased below him.

Mr. Lee is dead. He  _ killed  _ him. He died with multiple stabs on the entirety of his back—there are  _ so  _ many he couldn’t even count it without messing up. It sinks in that he did this. He did this with his own  _ bloody _ hands. This is no longer self-defence. This is  _ murder _ .

It should scare Jaemin but he feels so relieved, like a burden has been lifted off his shoulders. No, it doesn’t have anything to do with Jeno. It’s a kind of relief that is more  _ personal _ , and he can’t even understand why.

“Jaemin, you killed him.” Jeno states the obvious and he sounds so scared, so helpless, and he wishes he could hug him. But he may be the reason behind his best friend’s fear, and he knows too well that he doesn’t want to hurt and scare him further out of all people.

He lets the knife fall to the ground, watches it bounce before it lays there. He gets up, and stands straight, now sporting his usual calm demeanor. He does not look at Jeno, does not say anything.

Shameful, how he does not feel an ounce of guilt in killing his best friend’s biological parent. Maybe he has hurt him by taking his dad’s life. Maybe he’ll get yelled at, get ignored, be the one to blame now. Be the one at fault. He feels guilt on letting Jeno down instead, and becoming someone who broke his trust.

Choosing to be honest, Jaemin does not apologize, proceeds to walk off, thinking of changing into new clothes. But he feels arms wrap around his torso, and a face resting on his shoulder, along with tears.

“Jeno—,”

“I saw it, the way you stabbed him.” Jeno starts, his hug getting tighter. “You looked like you’d kill me next, with the way you smiled while my dad was screaming.” What he is talking about is not even something lighthearted, but he chuckles like it’s nothing, and Jaemin does not really understand what he is trying to point out.

Before he could open his mouth to ask again, his best friend beats him to it. “I am just saying that it’s not your fault.”

“I still killed your father.”

“And he deserved it.”

Right when Jaemin turns around to face him, with his face dirtied with blood and all, a maid shrieks. From afar, he can see the life flash in that person’s eyes. He can already hear the other helpers of the household call for him, still with respect but there is a hint of fear.

But Jeno is a distraction—a good one, as he holds his hands with his own. There is red on their fingers, their palms, and some blots on their arms. His hold is  _ warm _ , unlike the blood drying on his skin.

“Thank you for protecting me all this time.” There is no dread in the way Jeno expresses himself; he’s even  _ smiling  _ and it almost makes him forget where they are, and the things they have to do after. Like cleaning the goddamn carpet and having to hide Mr. Lee’s body somewhere, or hopefully, make it decompose quick. “You’ve always been doing so much for me.”

Jaemin smiles, squeezing his best friend’s hands gently. “It’s nothing.” Because he does not really mind protecting him. It is not a task he is forced to do. It’s something he  _ wants  _ to do. And he hopes that Jeno gets to figure that out, because when it comes to that, he can’t express himself in the way he wants to.

If he does, he’ll just—

_ “Papa, why are you hurting Nana?” _

_ Jaemin attaches himself to the corner of the wall, crying while Mr. Lee is holding a knife. Isn’t he supposed to be cutting cake? Why is the blade suddenly pointed at him? Is he angry? He just wanted to help. _

_ But Jeno is finally here, with Mrs. Lee. The edge of the knife is no longer poking his small nose. Jaemin stops trying to become one with the wall, and stumbles towards his best friend. _

_ He trips on his own foot and hits his arm against the floor. He also hears the sound of the knife falling to the ground as well. He thinks it’s going to poke his nose again, so he cries harder. Jeno is a few seconds too late; he has trouble running fast too, but at least he is hugged by him. _

_ “Did Papa do anything?” _

_ Everything around him is spinning. He’s scared. He wanted to call for his mom and dad but Mr. Lee told him to stay quiet. He wonders if he should not tell Jeno as well. He acts before he fully registers it in his brain, though, so he blabbered everything to him. _

_ Mr. Lee was just going to cut the cake into slices for everyone. Jaemin wanted to help. He gets told it’s fine, but he really wanted to do something. He is told to stop shouting, but he swore he wasn’t. And then his dad suggested that they play a game: if he keeps quiet, he will get a slice of cake. _

_ But Jaemin is stubborn, and that’s how a knife kept poking his chubby hands and cheeks and nose. _

_ “I’ll protect you!” Jeno exclaims, determined, covering the both of them with his shield. “Don’t hurt Nana anymore!” _

“Young Master Na. Young Master Lee?”

Jaemin snaps out of it, blinking his eyes multiple times. Their household’s oldest maid, an elderly woman, looks like she is about to cry. He feels bad for making her witness such a scene. “Yes?”

She trembles as she asks, “What do we do with the body?”

He gulps the lump down his throat. He turns to Jeno, much calmer now unlike earlier. Jaemin turns back to the maid again, with a smile.

“We’ll handle it.”

**Author's Note:**

> i was working on the fic's tags and i was listening to isaac dunbar's Ferrari. the song suits the fic...so listen to it hehe. leave comments too if u want hehe (please).
> 
> twitter   
>  curiouscat


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